Images
by Two-on-a-Tower
Summary: A collection of random one shots. Even though I change scenes/ circumstances for my liking, I really try to recreate the characters as you know them. / Casey centric
1. Mum

He had watched his Dad bleeding out.

It happened 15 years ago; he was seventeen. He was standing in the hallway, his eyes fixed on his Dad's body, lying on the cold ground. Blood was running from his forehead through the carpet to the ground. All was read. And he did nothing but watch.

His mother was crying. Her make-up was smeared and her hands trembled. He could see the gun moving. Up, down, up, down. She stood next to his father and for the first time, besides her tears and her sobs, she did not look small near him.

Matt swallowed. He wanted to say something, but his lips were dry and his tongue heavy. Coldness had settled into his bones and for a moment he wondered if he'd turned into stone.

"Matt, turn around, please," his mother said suddenly. She had a soft voice. He'd never heard it raised against him, save for that one time he tried pot. Thinking of this incident makes his thoughts smile bitterly. It was such a triviality.

Matt slowly turned around. His body remained rigid, only his feet did two steps to the opposite direction. He was facing the living room now. Through the open door, he could see the book case. The book case with his mother's books was always his favourite place. He loved to lend books, reading them in his room all alone and feeling like he would understand his mother better. And he did, because he understood why she had shot him.

"I don't know what to do," he heard her muttering. Fabric was rubbing against each other. She was moving. Probably pacing up and down, he imagined. "I just don't know."

Suddenly she stopped. Police sirens echoed in the night. Some of the neighbours must have called the police after hearing the gun shoot. Matt breathed heavily as he realised that his mother was going to be arrested.

"Matt," her soft voice again. Her hand was touching his shoulders as she turned him around. "I'm sorry." She whispered, "Not for what I did." Tears were running down her face, "But for leaving you. Listen to me now. You have to call Christie. Ask her to come and take care of you. She will probably need a day or two to arrange everything, but she will come. Do you hear me?"

Matt nodded.

"She will come and take good care of you." Her voice trembled less and as she raised her hand to move the fingertips slightly over his face, he could see that her hand was steady now. " Just don't forget, I love you. Okay."

He nodded again. "Okay." His mother smiled and pulled him close with a force that even now still surprised him. She held him tight and only as they could hear the police car stop in front of their house, she let go of him.

"I did it for you," she said firmly, before she turned around. And with her back to him, her hands stretched out towards the police officer, Matt understood what she had actually said: 'Now do something good with your life.'

And he tried.


	2. What happened? (Part 1 of 2)

**Thanks for your comments. They made me really happy. I hope you'll enjoy this one too.**

 **(And yes, of course, it's Casey centric + whump.)**

What happened? (Part 1 of 2)

A fog had rolled over Firehouse 51 during the night, covering the orange bricks of the house in a colourless curtain. It had been the first sign of the approaching winter season and combined with the brisk air and the cloudless sky, the fog had painted a picture in tender grey. Even in the early morning hours, the fog could still be discovered lingering nearby, but the orange rays of the morning sun were creating soft highlights on the red bricks, reminding everybody running past that autumn was not yet gone.

As Severide entered the building at 7 o'clock in the morning, he hadn't noticed any of the last sings of autumn. Too tired for nature's beauty, his only thought was of coffee.

'Morning,' he mumbled as he entered the kitchen. He noticed his squad team sitting together, idly chatting like old women during their Sunday brunch and rolled his eyes. The only one more talking were Cruz and Otis who apparently hadn't the decency to be quiet in the early morning hours. Supressing a bone rattling yawn, he finally grabbed a coffee from the counter, before he went to his regular seat next to Hadley.

'Late night?' Hadley asked. Severide nodded slowly, smiling lopsidedly into his coffee mug.

'So the tiny brown haired one with the big—", Hadley raised his hands in front of his upper body, grinning like a school boy, but Severide shook his head.

'No, the blonde one. Her best friend's cousin or something like that.' Hadley rolled his eyes in disbelieve and sighed.

'One day you have to teach me your dirty tricks, Severide.'

'Nah, that won't help as long as you look like this,' he laughed as his eyes suddenly caught the truck crew, sitting opposite of them. Hermann and Mouch were talking in fierce whispers while Cruz and Otis were constantly looking at their phones.

'What's going on over there?' Severide asked in confusion after Hermann had raised his phone to his ear for the third time.

'Casey's not here yet,' Capp said. Severide frowned and looked at his watch: 7:10 am. Casey was already ten minutes late.

'Probably overslept,' Severide said slowly, feeling his stomach twist.

'Mmh,' Capp said in response. 'Or he's got a flat tyre.' Severide turned

around, looking him sternly into his eyes.

'And he probably has got a flat phone too, huh? We're talking about Casey. He'd call if he had a flat tyre.' Capp shrugged his shoulders.

'If you're so concerned, then why don't _you_ call him?'

'I'm not concerned,' Severide snapped, 'I'm annoyed that he apparently has lost his last sense of responsibility. Coming late and not calling. If he goes on like this, he'll lose his job.' Capp and Hadley exchanged glances. They both knew that Severide was indeed concerned, but after Andy's death his concern had taken the shape of anger.

'Whatever,' Severide said after seconds of silence. 'I'm in my office, doing some paperwork.' With one last glance at Hermann starring at his phone, he left the room, leaving the squad team and his cold coffee behind.

On the way to his office, he had to go through the locker room. It was a cold and lonely room as only the people who worked there knew that the grey lockers contained all the colours of their lives. Photographs, personal notes and dreams could be found on the inside, but the outside was nothing more but a metallic wall. Severide sighed as he stood in front of Casey's locker. For a moment he hesitated, but then he took the black lock into his hands. He knew the code. It was the same damn lock Casey had used during their time at the Academy when they had shared a locker. Severide took a deep breath, before he opened the locker with swift fingers.

With a click the locker opened.

Severide didn't know what to expect and yet he was disappointed to find it empty. Casey's duffle bag, which usually contained a change of clothes, wasn't there. Angry he slammed the locker shut. The metallic sound travelled loudly through the room while, without being aware, his right hand was reaching for the mobile phone in his trouser pocket. Only as his fingers hovered over Matt's name on the display, he stopped wondering if he really should call. But in the end he did. Clutching the phone tightly, he listened to the dial tone, before he could hear Casey's voicemail: 'This is Matthew Casey. Please leave a message. I'll call you back.'

'Dammit, Matt,' he punched against the locker. Why did he even care? He and Matt weren't friends anymore. Not after what had happened with Andy and especially not after Matt had slept with Heather. Severide put his phone back into his pocket as he dawned on him. Casey usually started the first shift of each week very early to do some of his paperwork. He'd already done this during their time at the Academy, learning and practicing while the other had still been asleep. While kicking himself mentally in the butt, Severide went to Casey's tiny office. _The dumbass probably fell asleep_ , he though _. Suits him right for getting up this early._

However, as he entered Casey's office, he was disappointed for the second time of that day. Casey wasn't there. He had never been. The papers were still untouched, the place cold and empty. Severide froze while his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. For the first time, he realised that something must indeed have happened and that he needed to check up on him.

Nearly running, he went to his office to get the key to Casey's home he still had. He remembered how Casey had given it to him when they had started together at firehouse 51. Awkwardly, Casey had asked if he would look after his things in case something would ever happen.

'Why me?,' Severide had asked in confusion, 'Why not give it to Haley?'

'Because,' Casey had looked to the floor, 'I'm not sure that Haley will always be there. But you will.'

Severide shook his head, dispelling his memories. He needed to focus now. At a rapid pace, he went to his office, only to stop at the doorframe when he saw Casey lying on his bed.

'What the—,' he whispered, standing still. His fingertips were tingling from the coldness his heart had sent out. As Casey was facing the door, Severide could see that the younger man had his eyes closed while his feet remained awkwardly on the ground, resulting in a half sitting/ half lying position that couldn't be comfortable. Slowly Severide approached the other man.

'Casey', he said.

'Matt?' Carefully, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the other man, shaking it a little bit. 'Wake up. Half the house is looking for you.'

With great effort, Casey opened his eyes.

'You're alright?' Severide asked without taking his eyes of Casey.

'Mmh,' Casey mumbled. His eyes were darting from one point to another, struggling to focus on the shadow in front of him. Slowly he pushed himself on his left elbow, before he could feel hands supporting his upper body until he was sitting upright.

'What happened?' Severide started again as he suddenly noted the change in Casey's pale complexion.

'I think I need to—,' Severide grabbed the bucket before Casey could finish his sentence, wincing involuntarily as the other man began retching. He looked to the right, giving Casey some room to empty his stomach, as Severide's eyes found something that let his hear beat faster.

'Is that blood on my pillow?' His eyes darted back to Casey. 'And on your shirt?' On Casey's collar, red dots of blood were placing themselves in strong contrast to his grey Lieutenant shirt.

'It sure is. Damn it,' Severide cursed, his eyes following the trail of blood from the collar to Casey's head. On Casey's left temple, Severide eventually found a small laceration. Severide gently pushed some hair from Casey's temple to the side. He noted that the blood was already dry, giving the blonde hair a muddy colour.

'Ow,' Casey moaned softly. 'Stop that.' He raised his hand slowly to push Severide's fingers away, but as his hand was unusually heavy, he simply dropped it into his lap again. Severide clicked his tongue.

'Look at me.' Putting his right hand on Casey's left cheek, he turned the other man's face into his direction to examine the wound more closely. The other man closed his eyes.

'Dizzy?,' Severide asked in concern. As Casey opened his eyes again, he saw that the pupils were slightly dilated.

'You hit your head.' Severide said.

'Did I?' Casey asked and raised his hand again to touch his temple, but was stopped before he could reach the wound.

'Yeah.' Severide licked his lips. "Wait here for a sec and I tell the others that I found you. And let me get Shay, okay?' He stood up and looked at the other man, who was sitting on his bed, lost and confused, before he added: "And don't touch your head." Casey nodded and closed his eyes for a second. His head was still pounding, and he felt dizzy. As he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see Shay's green eyes close to him.

'Hey there,' Shay greeted friendly. Severide immediately recognised her voice as her everything-is-going-to-be-alright-just-keep-calm-patient-voice. It unsettled him.

'How are you feeling?' She shone a light at first into his left then into his right eye. But Casey was distracted as he starred at Hermann, who was standing with tight lips and clutched hands in the doorframe.

'Casey?!'

'Huh?' he looked back to Shay, feeling like he'd missed something.

'How are you feeling,' she repeated.

'Fine, I guess.'

Severide snorted. 'Try again.' Casey wrinkled his forehead.

'What?' he finally asked, before his brain caught up. 'Oh, how I feel. Dizzy, I guess.'

'That's all?'

'And a bit tired', he shrugged his shoulders. All those questions only increased his headache.

'And pain?' Severide suggested.

'Yeah, that one too.' Casey nodded slowly, not seeing how Severide rolled his eyes. 'But I am fine.'

'The hell you are,' Shay mumbled. 'But you are lucky. You won't need stiches.' Carefully she began to clean the wound before applying a butterfly bandage. As Shay was working in silence, the air became heavy with unanswered questions. Suddenly Severide was nudged by Hermann who gave him a clean Lieutenant shirt. 'What happened?'

Severide just shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't know.' He looked at the shirt in his hands, 'But thanks for this.' Herman nodded and retreated to the doorframe, still eyeing Casey in concern.

They both waited until Shay finished her task, before Severide gave Casey his shirt.

'Thanks.'

'No problem.' Severide waited for a second, before he continued, 'Can you remember what happened?'

All eyes were fixed on Casey, who clutched the shirt in his hands, biting his lip. Severide sighed and crossed his arms.

'Do you remember why you went to my room?' he asked, but again Casey shook his head.

'He's got a concussion,' Shay said. 'He probably won't be able to remember anything from the . . . accident.' She turned around, now facing Casey instead of Severide.

'What's the last thing you can remember?'

Casey closed his eyes, trying to remember anything at all.

'I ate noodles and went to bed,' he finally said. 'That was last night, I guess. But I can't remember anything afterwards.'

'Well, you definitely used your car to come here. I saw your truck outside,' Herman quipped in.

Casey sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'Sorry, I really don't know what happened. And sorry for ruining your bed.' He added, looking at Severide. 'I'll buy you a new pillow. And a mattress.'

'Yeah, Matt. Because that's so important right now.' Severide rolled his eyes, as he suddenly spotted something on the ground. He bent down and picked it up.

'That's your mobile, isn't it?' he said, looking at the broken screen, before handing it over. 'Looks like you dropped it.'

But Casey didn't listen. His eyes were fixed on the device.

'I think, I can remember. I think, I know what happened,' he whispered, still starring at his phone.

'Yeah?' Severide asked. 'Let's hear it'.

'Story time,' Shay said, sitting down next to Casey, who had placed his head into his left hand. He was exhausted and his head hurt, but he pulled himself together and started sharing his memories. After a short time, Severide finally understood what had happened.

 _TBC_


	3. What happened? (Part 2 of 2)

_The first shift of the week usually started at 7 o'clock in the morning. After two days off and two days away from the firehouse, Casey had made it a habit to start early. Arriving at 6 o'clock leaves him an hour to finish his paperwork in silence as no one would bother him._

 _At that particular morning, it was a cold day in the midst of autumn, and the early fog still closed around the houses and cars, muffling earth's sounds and colours, Casey took his car to go to work. Even though, it was early, the streets were already full of other cars as he drove the few kilometres to the station. Casey was relaxed, enjoying the music from the radio. It felt like the start of a good day._

 _Humming one of the radio songs, he parked his car one block from the fire station away. It was a habit that was born out of his inner wish to leave room for the other cars that usually arrived after him. He knew that Severide or Gabby had a knack of arriving just on time, thus often lacking crucial minutes of finding a parking space one or two blocks away._

 _As he parked his car, the sun had already walked up to the middle of the sky, resting on the various city roofs and blinding everybody who dared to look. Matt enjoyed those early mornings, but his inner peace was disturbed by the ringing of his cell phone. It was a message from Walter. Matt sighed, closed the car door and started reading the text. Walter was one of his clients, who needed new windows, and, according to Walter, Casey should be working on them at that particular moment._

 _Casey shook his head. Annoyed at Walter, he started typing a response while walking to the fire station as a sudden movement to his left let him look up._

 _But it was too late._

 _A young man on a black bicycle was riding fast on the otherwise empty sidewalk. Casey heard the breaks as the young man slammed into them, but he slipped on the wet autumn ground and knocked Casey over. With an audible thud, Casey fell to the ground, smacking his head on the asphalt. The phone slipped out of his fingers onto the ground._

 _The kid was mortified. With wide eyes, he looked at Casey, who groaned and tried to sit up slowly. The moment, Casey started moving, the kid took off._

 _Casey opened his eyes slowly. His head hurt like hell, his vision swam. Slowly he brought himself into a sitting position. Dazed, he looked at his hands which were red and raw. Blood and dirt of the road mixed into an image of pain. He sighed inaudibly, blinking and trying to set his focus straight. He looked at the station which was unusually blurred. But he was sure that he could reach it. He stood up carefully and picked up his phone from the ground, registering only marginally that the screen was now split before he put it back into his pocket. For a moment, Casey stood in the middle of the pavement and wondered what he did there. But the pain radiating from his head reminded him of the things that had happened just seconds before. With cold fingertips, he reached to his pounding head. To his surprise, they came back wet, covered with blood. Not much, just on his fingertips. Casey sighed again, wondering why he was still outside and why the station seemed so far away._

 _When he finally started walking, he was surprised how uncertain his steps felt. The ground seemed to tilt slightly to the left every now and then, making it difficult for him to walk in a straight line. As Casey reached the entrance area, he felt his stomach clench. Before he could register what was happening, he started throwing up his breakfast; a coffee with too much milk and four eggs with bacon. Casey groaned and clutched his stomach. After the feeling of nausea stopped, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve clean and straightened up. He gathered his strength and continued his journey to the fire station. To somebody who could help him._

 _Unconsciously, he went straight to Severide's office. At that moment he didn't question his need for the other lieutenant as it was a natural feeling, a natural decision to turn to Severide for help, because Severide was his friend. But if Severide was his friend, then why was his office empty? Casey frowned. He could feel both his frustration and his headache increasing. Why wasn't Severide there? Severide was always on shift with him. Casey was sure about that, and yet he had the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something important, that he actually should know where Severide was. Casey closed his eyes in frustration._

 _As he opened his eyes again, he spotted the freshly made bed. And before he decided to do so, he shuffled to the bed, sat down and laid his head on the pillow, giving his heavy body the rest it had been demanding. His feet, however, remained on the ground. A dirty bed was the last thing Severide needed and with this thought, he drifted into a sleep that resembled unconsciousness._

"What an idiot," Hermann scoffed. "He should have stopped and helped you."

Casey nodding, his eyes still focused on his shirt.

"Yeah, he should have."

Silence covered the room.

"Okay, my duty is done," said Shay suddenly, standing up, "Let's give the Casey some rest." She made eye contact with Herman, who nodded.

"Sure. I'll go and tell the others that you're alright, Lieutenant. You are alright, aren't you?"

Casey smiled. "I'm fine, Herman."

Herman smiled before he and Shay left the room. The silence that followed their departure was friendly and comforting and Casey felt how his eyelids became heavy once again. He would have fallen asleep if Severide's voice hadn't startled him.

"Need some help?" Severide asked, pointing to the shirt in Casey's hand.

"No," Casey said, defensively. "Let me try first." He pulled the shirt he was wearing up, but soon it became stuck around his head. Casey mumbled in frustrations as he struggled to keep his heavy arms above his head to free him from the shirt.

"Some help?" Casey finally mumbled and with a swift motion, Severide pulled the old shirt from his head.

"Thanks," Casey said. "I thought, I could manage this on my own."

Severide snorted in response. "Of course you did." He grabbed the fresh shirt.

"Arms up," he said and to his surprise, Casey obeyed.

"So all set," Severide said. "You feel up for a ride?"

"Yes. Could you please call a cab?"

"Are you kidding? Let's just take your truck and I'll bring you home."

Casey looked up, wide-eyed, trying to process the information.

"Really?"

"Yeah, just let me talk to Boden first. Alright?"

"Alright."

Of course, Boden agreed that Severide brought Casey home. He was relieved to hear that the other Lieutenant was safe and sound.

The ride in the car was silent. Casey still pressed a cold pack to his head, but his face seemed relaxed, no traces of pain and that, in return, satisfied Severide.

"We're there," Severide said after a while. When Casey opened his eyes, the car was already parked in front of his home.

"Thanks, Kelly. Really," he said in earnest.

"No problem," Severide smiled and removed his seatbelt. "Now let's get you inside and my job is done."

"No, you don't need—," Casey said, raising his hands defensively.

"Yes, I do. Let's go."

Severide accompanied Casey not only to his house, but also made sure that the other man was safely settled on his own bed, wrapped in a blanket with water and some crackers on the bedside table. As all was set, Severide wanted to leave but hesitated for a moment near the door frame.

"Why did you go to my room?" he finally asked. "After all what happened between us."

Casey shrugged. "I don't know," he said after a pause, "I think you still are my best friend. Even though you behave like a prick at the moment." He looked him into the eyes, before he continued. "And I knew that you would help me." Severide bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say next.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said finally, reaching for the door, but then he stopped. He turned around and took his phone out of his pocket.

"Since yours is broken," he stretched out his hand, offering his phone to Casey, who accepted it with surprise. "Take mine for the day. I'll call you every two hours to see how you are. Or you can call me. Or anybody else. Whatever." Severide shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll collect it tomorrow morning after the shift. Okay?"

Casey nodded tiredly. Severide turned around to leave.

"Kelly?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You can be a good friend, you know?"

Severide laughed, despite the cold knot his stomach suddenly turned into.

"See you tomorrow, Matt." He closed the door. Maybe it was time to finally sort things out.


	4. Broken Bones & Mended Hearts (1 of 2)

**Broken Bones & Mended Hearts (1 of 2)**

Click.

 _"It's your fault, Andy is dead."_

Click. With swift hands Casey stapled another black 6-inch strip at the bottom section of the naked roof, leaving only a small overhang on the eave to ensure drainage into the metallic gutters.

 _"He was your responsibility, Lieutenant."_

Click. Click. With each new strip, his breathing got louder. Sweat was running down his temples and his back. His dark blue shirt, which he wore under his winter jacket, stuck to his spine, but his hands kept moving in order to lay and nail layer after layer as he hoped to finish the roof in the afternoon.

 _"I sleep like a baby. What about you?"_

Click. Click. Click.

His jaw clenched as he shot the final staple into the roof. The silence that followed was only cut by Casey's rapid breathing. As he finally sat back, his eyes darted to the sun that was already high in the sky, promising the first warm day after the tiring winter months.

 _"I sleep like a baby."_

 _"Like a baby."_

 _"What about you, Lieutenant?"_

For a second, his face contorted in pain and fine wrinkles appeared around his gentle eyes. Severide's words had been haunting him for days, even following him onto the roof. Casey sighed, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, only to hear the voice again.

 _"It's your fault."_

 _"Your fault."_

He huffed and reached for the stapler that was sitting in front of him as to dissolve his nagging thoughts by working even faster. But his fingers, despite the warmth of the sun, had become cold and stiff from working on the roof for hours and so the stapler nearly slipped out of his hand. The white of his knuckles appeared as his fingers clung around the tool to keep it from falling down. His hand seized up briefly and started shaking. So it was no wonder that, when he tried to place the tool into the hammer strap of his stone-coloured work trousers, he nearly missed the strap by an inch. His heart was beating faster now, more sweat poured down his temples. If the stapler had slipped, he would have wasted valuable time by climbing the metal ladder all the way down and then up again. He slightly shook his head and bit down on his lip. Working alone sometimes had its downsides, but at the moment he enjoyed the solitude on the roof. As long as he didn't drop anything of importance, he'd be fine.

With a final glance, he checked the black felt paper he had just applied. Everything seemed to be in order, the staples seemed to hold, which meant that he could start installing the black shingles he had bought for old Mr Miller a week ago.

Mr Miller was 92-years-old, but he still had the posture of a soldier. He was a gruff but kind man. Each morning he offered Casey a hot before he went back inside. After the death of his wife nearly 11 years ago, he had mostly kept to himself, being content with observing instead of interacting with people. Speaking to other people, as he had told Casey two days ago, only emphasised the absence of his late wife. So he decided that if he couldn't talk to her, he had no interest in talking at all. And to his surprise, Casey had understood Mr Miller perfectly well. He knew that the death of a beloved person changed everything as death never only affected one. In the blink of an eye, as Casey had experienced more than once, death was able to emerge from his hiding place and like a spoiled child he would take, with no explanation and regardless its price, whatever pleased him the most.

 _"Andy is dead, and it's your fault."_

"Damn it," Casey hissed suddenly, thumping the roof with his fist. It wasn't his fault. He didn't kill Andy. So why didn't the constant nagging in his chest stop?

Because of Serveride.

Serveride had told him that it was his fault. And maybe that was why he believed it, too.

Casey shook his head and reached to his left to collect the remaining sheets of the felt paper, tucking them under his left arm. As he crawled to the metal ladder that was still leaning against the roof, some of the paper points were touching the ground, creating a soft hizzing tone. Casey dragged them through withered leaves, coloured in brown and grey, that were lying on the roof and that sometimes jumped up and down due to the winter breeze which had become stronger in the course of the morning.

As Casey stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, he noticed in the corner of his eye that the otherwise clean rain gutter was cluttered in the middle. He frowned and turned his head to the right to get a better look. Old leaves and thin branches were sticking out and pointing in various directions, as if a small bird had built its nest right there. Casey stopped, wondering if he should take it down. If not, he thought, Mr Miller's gutter soon would completely be blocked up and -forced by the weight of rain water- would break off.

Following his instincts, Casey climbed two rungs up again. With the paper still tucked under his arm, he used his left hand to hold onto the ladder so that the knuckles of the hand that clutched the rung turned white, before he reached over to his right side. Cold wind was blowing in his face, painting his cheeks red, as he felt with his fingertips for the nest. The coldness of the rain gutter sent a shiver down his spine. As he found the nest, however, he was surprised that it felt warm and squashy against his fingertips. The rain had soaked the old leaves which had partly started to rot. Carefully, he came up on his toes as ee flung parts of the nest to the ground, before he stretched himself even further to the right side to reach for more. As he reached over for the – what he hoped - last time, the ladder on the wet ground tipped to the right as well. Casey's heart stopped for a second, before, powered by adrenaline, it started beating faster, send the drumfire of fear through his body. In a final attempt to safe himself he yanked his left arm up to the gutter, but he missed. The felt paper tumbled silently to the ground, followed by the loud metal cling of the ladder. Only the sun heard the broken scream that escaped Casey's lips, before he too hit the ground.


End file.
